SONGS OF THE 
HEART AiND SOUL 



JOSEl'M ROLAND PIATT 



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SONGS OF 
THE HEART AND SOUL 



BY 



JOSEPH ROLAND PIATT 




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BOSTON 
SHERMAN, FRENCH & COMPANY 

1917 









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Copyright, 1917 
Sherman, French 6* Company 

JAN -4 1918 > 



dCI.A479839 



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IN FOND REMEMBRANCE OF THE 
AULD LANG SYNE. I AFFECTIONATELY 
INSCRIBE THIS VOLUME OF VERSE 

TO THE "ELECT OF LOVE," WHO 
SIPPED WITH ME LIFE'S MORN- 
ING WINE, AND WHO RECALL 
THEIR DAYS OF YOUTH, AS 
GLADLY I DO MINE; TO ALL, 
WHO, LIVING, THINK OF ME AS 
YEARS GO FLEETING ON, AND 
TO THE MEMORY OF THOSE, THE 
DEAR ONES DEAD AND GONE. 



PROEM 

I can't recall what age I was when rhymes be- 
gan to play 

Their fancies in my heart and brain, — " I've 
always been that way " ; 

And 'way back there in early youth the very 
air to me 

In Summer time was thick with sounds of sweet- 
est harmony. 

I loved the haunts of nature, and I loved the 
songs of birds ; 

I loved the wooded pasture lands, where fed the 
quiet herds; 

I loved the dusk of country lanes, when Sum- 
mer's day was gone ; 

I loved the night with all its stars, I loved the 
breath of dawn. 

The cooing dove, the bobolink, the blue-bird and 
the thrush 

Made melody all day for me; and in the eve- 
ning's hush 

The whip-poor-will, the crickets, and the frogs 
down by the stream 

Lulled me to sleep, and filled my soul with many 
a happy dream. 



So, in and out, and up and down, and back and 

forth and through, 
The warp and woof of Time and Years kept 

weaving, till there grew 
This fabric, whereon printed is full many a 

song and rhyme 
That lived with me from halcyon days of youth 

until this time. 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

The Forest Troubadour 1 

Down on the Tennessee 3 

The Old Man's Story 5 

Never Again . 8 

Sweethearts in the Auld Lang Syne . . 10 

In Galion 12 

When Age Comes On 14 

looneenah 16 

My Serenader 26 

Robert Burns 28 

He Tol(le)d the Bell 32 

The Pianist 33 

Lake Tahoe S6 

He Wouldn't Take " No ! " for an Answer 38 

Laughter 40 

A Farewell 41 

My Own Dear Mary Dee 43 

Where Words are Weak 44 

The Baby 45 

The Fairest of Creation 47 

Nannie McShane ........ 50 

MoNA Lee 52 

Beyond the Years 54 

A Girl from Kentucky 56 

Alone 57 

When Daylight Fades 59 

The Glad Yesterday 61 

Robert Burns' Reverie 63 

When the Leaves Drop Off'n the Trees 65 



PAOK 

Land of the Used-to-be 68 

Scenes of Other Years . . . . . .70 

Belshazzar's Revel ....... 72 

John Mulligan Me Jo 75 

At Della Wilson's Grave 77 

Mary Mundie 79 

The Old Choir 80 

Old Dad Dubbs 82 

Longing 91 

Thirty-Five .....'.... 93 

Coasting Years Ago 96 

The'Zephyr's Song 99 

Doll Baby Days . . . . . . . .100 

Childhood's Slumber Land 102 

To James Whitcomb Riley: Greeting . 104 
To Joseph Roland Piatt^ — The Poemer . 107 

Summer Dawn 108 

Dolce Far Niente , . .110 

The Poet 112 



SONGS OF 
THE HEART AND SOUL 



THE FOREST TROUBADOUR 

When summer comes, and summer days 

Are redolent of June; 
When brooklets lisp thro pebbled ways, 

With feathered choirs a-tune — 
I fare me forth to wooded shades, 

With heart and soul aglow, 
In grottoes, glens and hazeled glades, 

To hear my vireo. 

Sweet Troubadour, you're never still 
One minute at a time! 

greenwood poet, how you trill 
Your endless rowth o' rhyme! 

" See here ! See me ! " from bush and tree, 

You busy rascal, O. 
" See me ! See here ! " in ecstas}^ 

You sing, my vireo. 

1 try to see you, cunning sprite ! 

But 3^ou so flit about 
You put eye, ear and brain in quite 

A puzzled, hopeless rout. 
Sit still, you scamp, and let me see 

Just how your downy throat 
Forms lyrics of clear melody. 

And sings them note by note. 



[1] 



Throughout the summer day you sing, 

Almost the whole day long, — 
You teasing, tantalizing king 

Of modest, dainty song ! 
And in the haze of autumn's days, 

When leaves bear Jack-Frost stains, 
You pipe e'en softer arias. 

In mellowed, gentler strains. 

Dear vireo, when you have flown 

To Southland's sunny clime, 
When winter comes, and harsh winds moan, 

And Christmas carols chime, — 
Across the sea of Memory, 

From out the Long Ago, 
Your silv'ry song floats back to me — 

My bonny vireo ! 



[3] 



DOWN ON THE TENNESSEE 

Do you remember, Tom, old friend, 

Those days of the long ago, — 
Our happy home near the river bend, 

And the woods where the flowers grow? 
When you and I, old friend, were boys, 

So merry and full of glee. 
When life held sweetest, fairest joys, 

Down on the Tennessee. 

How we used to romp over every lea. 

Or fish from those shady banks ; 
How we chased the butterfly or the bee. 

And played at our childish pranks. 
The grass grew down to the water's edge. 

Birds sang from every tree ; 
At night the frogs croaked in the sedge 

Along the Tennessee. 

Do you recall how in days of old 

All the darkies would gather at night ? 
How the banjoes rang, how the voices rolled 

Where the moon shed its mellow light. 
We cast aside care, for the balmy air, 

Like the breath of a southern sea. 
Was sweeter than zephyrs from anywhere. 

Where rolled the Tennessee. 



[3] 



And then, you remember, the years went by, 

And you and I grew to be men ; 
You courted a girl by the name of Sue Bly, 

And I courted sweet Sallv Glen. 
Well, Susie shook you, but sweet Sally Glen 

Was true as the stars to me, 
Till she died and we buried her one sad day 

There close by the Tennessee. 

That broke my heart, and I wandered away, 

Far off from my boyhood home ; 
I went here and there and everywhere, 
' Nor for years did I cease to roam. 
But the pain grew less as the years rolled in. 

And I've taken a wife, you see, — 
.Perhaps as good as she would have been 

Who sleeps in Tennessee. 

So I think, someti-^e, I'll take babies and wife, 

And the stock and the household goods. 
And" go to the scenes of my early life, 

Near the edge of the shady woods. 
And when I've gone to my rest for aye 

I hope they will bury me 
Where I may sleep till the Judgment Day 

In dear old Tennessee. 



[*] 



THE OLD MAN'S STORY 

On a golden summer of long ago, 

In the fair, sweet month of June, 
I walked with a maiden, as you shall know, 

'Neath the full-orbed silvery moon; 
And we plighted our troth where the summer's 
breeze 

With the scent of the rose did blow ; 
We pledged ourselves to be always true, 

On that summer's night long ago. 

How I loved that maiden no tongue can tell, 

With a love not all of earth; 
'Twas a love that was born where the angels 
dwell, — 

Where the heart's best hopes have birth. 
And her love for me was half divine. 

And as pure as the driven snow ; 
She promised some day she would be mine. 

On that summer's night long ago. 

We walked 'neath the star-bespangled skies, 

On that well-remembered night; 
And a holy joy lit up her eyes. 

In that silvery, soft moonlight. 
We whispered a lingering, fond farewell, 

For at day-dawn I had to go 
Far o'er the sea, and a shadow fell 

As I left her, long years ago. 

[5] 



I was captain then of a white winged ship 

That sailed the summer seas ; 
And we set our sails and sped away, 

Next morn, with the ofF-land breeze. 
I was to be gone for twelve long months, 

And would then come home, heigh-o ! 
O'er the bounding tide, to claim my bride, 

On a summer of long ago. 

But they told my Mary that^I was false. 

On that summer of long ago ; 
Oh, sad was the day, for they buried her 

In the winter, beneath the snow. 
And when I returned in the early June 

My heart was broken, and oh! 
life's fairest hopes all fled away 

On a summer day long ago. 

It is many a year sin. "^ that sweet June night, 

When our souls in bliss were wed ; 
But I know we belong to each other yet. 

Though I'm living and she is dead. 
On a summer's evening I often sit 

In the roseate afterglow. 
And await God's time to renew my vows 

Of that summer of long ago. 

I know we shall meet beyond the skies, 
Where the truth will be understood ; 



[6] 



And we'll dwell forever in Paradise, 

As sure as the Lord is good. 
My life is dreary ; I near the grave, 

And I long for the tide to flow 
That will bear my soul to the soul of my love 

Of that summer of long ago. 



['!'] 



NEVER AGAIN 

Never again while the lamps are gleaming 

Shall I hear his step on the gravel walk ; 
And never again while the stars are beaming 

Will he hold my hands as we fondly talk. 
Never again while the moonlight glistens 

Along the waves of the restless sea, — 
Never again ! — my sad soul listens, 

But he'll never again come back to me. 

Never again will his kind voice cheer me. 

Never again shall I call him mine ; 
Never again will his forai be near me. 

For he found a bed in the ocean's brine. 
Never again with my fair-haired Shelby 

Shall I pluck love's flowers that sweetly 
bloom. 
For he crossed the dt "p in the ill-starred Elhey 

And the ocean's depth is his silent tomb. 

Never again while the sun rays quiver 

Shall I see those eyes and their love-light 
gleam; 
Never again by the winding river. 

And never again by the purling stream. 
Never again on the Susquehanna 

Shall we idly sail, all free from care. 
And the curling smoke from his sweet Havana 

Will float no more on the evening air. 

[8] 



Never again, for the sea has taken 

The dear one to whom I gave my love ; 
Never again will my soul awaken 

Till it wings its flight to the world above. 
Never through all the sad years' fleeting 

Shall I see him to whom my soul was wed. 
And never again shall I hear his greeting 

Till the solemn sea gives up its dead ! 



[9] 



SWEETHEARTS IN THE AULD LANG 

SYNE . 

In the fire's gleam I doze and dream of years 

long passed away ; 
Through retrospect I recollect one tranquil 

day in May, 
When we sat by a wimpling brook, beneath a 

spreading vine, 
And you and I were sweethearts, in that glad 

lang syne. 

(Chorus) 
When you and I were sweethearts, then the 

skies shone soft above; 
The birds of spring were mating, and we heard 

the cooing dove. 
And now lifers wintry frost has flecked your 

hair, as it has mine, — 
But ohy I love you just the same as vn the auld 
lartg syne! 

The autimm came; its golden flame lay over all 

the land. 
You promised me my bride you'd be, and we, 

joined hand in hand. 
Together faced the minister, and knelt at love's 

blest shrine. 
While you and I were sweethearts, in that dear 

lang syne. 

(Chorus) 
[10] 



Though forty years of smiles and tears have 

passed since you and I 
Romped through youth's love and heard the 

dove croon 'neath that summer sky, — 
Your beauty, softened by the years, thrills me 

like mellowed wine. 
And you are yet my sweetheart, as in that lang 

syne. 

{Chorus) 



[Ul 



IN GALION 

The sun shines bright in summer time 

In Galion; 
On Sundays church bells softly chime 

In Galion; 
The wild birds warble in the trees, 
Rocked by the flower-scented breeze ; 
The folks are busy, all, as bees, — 

In Galion. 

The merchants all are full of life 

In Galion; 
They're wide awake with friendly strife 

In Gallon ; 
The stores are tidy, clean and neat. 
On Main or on South Market Street; 
With welcome they a stranger greet 

In Galion. - 

There's coolest shade I've ever seen 

In Galion ; 
The grass is richest, darkest green 

In Galion; 
Beneath the soft electric light 
There's many a heart filled with delight. 
As love-lorn swains their vows do plight 

In Galion. 



[12] 



The girls are bonny as can be 

In Gallon; 
And just the style of girls for me 

In Gallon; 
With eyes as clear as morning's dew, — 
Some gray, some black, some brown, some 

blue — 
I'd like to be a young man, too, 

In Gallon. 



[13] 



WHEN AGE COMES ON 

When age comes on, and sight begins to fail, 
And when our eyes seem " dusty " when we 

read ; 
When visions blur, and brilliant lights grow 

pale, 
And when we turn to glasses in our need ; 
When print that once seemed large grows small, 

and when » 

We feel we've just the least bit less of brawn, — 
It vexes us, we know, a little then. 
When age comes on. 

When age comes on, and " <?row's-feet " round 

the eyes 
Begin to come, and furrowed wrinkles show 
Across the brows ; and when the memory flies. 
Or lingers o'er the scenes of long agd ; ^ 
When in the past we live, and love to dream 
Of joys we one time knew, that now are gone, — 
We hold this life in scarce so high esteem 
When age comes on. 

When age comes on, and threads of silver tinge 
The locks of auburn, brown, or black, or gold ; 
When pains of gout or rheiunatism twinge 
The joints, — when we first feel that we are 

growing old; 
When we look forward to the future years, 

[14] 



Straining the eyes of hope out toward the dawn 
Of life eternal, — how it calms our fears, 
When age comes on. 

When age comes on, and sense of weariness 
Steals over us, and seems to know no end ; 
When bones are crazed by many a sore distress, 
When feebleness afflicts, and will not mend; 
When footsteps falter as we onward fare 
O'er life's rough road, — we're glad will soon 

be gone 
This earthly toil, and all this grief and care, — 
When age comes on. 



L15J 



LOONEENAH 

THE SPIRIT OF NIAGARA FALLS 

Down in the " Cave-Of-The- Winds " I stood, 

Under the Horse-Shoe Fall. 
Over my head the dashing flood, 
Whose awful roar congealed my blood. 

Behind me the rocky wall. 

The waters boomed, and there seemed to come 

Out of the spray and spume 
Voi-ces that made mv senses numb. 
Voices that struck my spirit dumb — 

Voices of dreary doom. 

My mind was troubled and filled with fear. 

There on that shelf of stone. 
When, all of a sudden, I seemed to hear 
Whispered words, sad and sweetly clear, 

Breatlied in an undertone. 

And, standing just to the right of me, 

I saw in the misty light 
A wraith or a ghost, it seemed to be, 
Clad in garments of mystery — 

A Spirit robed in white. 

She spoke to me in a language calm 
As the voice of the summer wind 

[16] 



Sighing through fronds of the fern or palm, 
Filling my soul with peaceful balm, 
Soothing my troubled mind. 

" Stranger," she said, " thy face reveals 

The tender thought within; 
Thou art a singer, I know, who feels 
Sympathy for the soul that steals 

Away from a world of sin. 

" I am a Spirit that once did dwell 

In an Indian maiden fair; 
I was Looneenah, whom all knew well — 
I was Looneenah, who roamed the dell. 

As free as the mountain air. 

" So, listen, while I a tale unfold. 
Sadder than yet you've known; 
A tale that began ere this land was old, 
A tale that to none I have ever told. 
Through all the years agone! 

" But, reading the wonderment in thy face, 

And knowing thy soul is free, 
I'll tell thee, here, where the waters race, 
And none may hear." These words preface 

The tale that she told to me: 

(" I AM A spirit! I AM IMMORTAL ! 

Dwelling forever here in the fall! 

[17] 



Just when the day-god knocks at night's 

PORTAL, 

Seen in the mists I am fairest of all. ! 

*' Take my hand, singer. See, my form 
trembles! 
Trembles, because there is that in thy 

FACE 

Or the soul back of thy face — which re- 
sembles » 
Him whom I knew in a far distant place. 

■ 

" Thus it is, singer, that I have appeared to 
thee. 
Thy soul and mine are akin ! and I know 
Joy will be thine. I will grow more en- 
deared TO THEE 
As THE moons FADE AND THE YEARS COME AND 

go!) -^ 

" Happy was I in those distant years. 

And proud of my warrior bold. 
Happy, mine eyes had known naught of tears, 
Glad, for my heart was devoid of fears. 

In those dreamy days of old. 

" My lover was gallant', and young, and free, 

And swift as the eagle's flight. 
In all our tribe none so strong as he; 
He led the chase, and was sure to be 

The bravest in every fight. 

[18] 



" Soft and low he would speak my name, — 

' Looneenah, be my bride ! ' 
I told him ' yea,' in the yellow flame 
Of Indian summer, when herds of game 

Fed on the woodlands wide. 

" Nonga ! — this was my warrior bold ; 

Plighted were he and I — 
Plighted to wed, ere the winter's cold 
Covered the earth, or its strength unrolled 

Out of the northern sky. 

" And Nonga came to my father's tent, 

Just at the close of day, 
Asked of my father for his consent 
To wed Looneenah. My father, spent 

With age, said : ' Nonga, nay, — 



a i 



Looneenah shall marry a chief,' he said, 

' A chief of a warrior band ; 
I do not desire a &02/ should wed 
My only daughter ! ' Yet Nonga plead 

And begged for my heart and hand. 

" ' Prove,' said my father, ' that thou art brave, 

Show me thou hast no fears ; 
Go up to the Mal-Ko-Ho-Rik's cave,* — 

1 On the peak of a great precipice, near the Indian 
village, was the place where the eagles had built their 
nests for many years. This place was known as the 

[19] 



Up where those Devils of Darkness rave — 
Where the eagles have built for years.' 

" My father pointed out toward the west, 
Where the sun had gone from sight — 

* On yonder cliff is the Eagles' Nest ; 

If you climb up there ere you go to rest, 
I'll give my consent this night ! ' 

" My heart grew cold, for th^ clifF was steep ; 

But Nonga lay down his bow 
And arrows, and said: ' Sire, before I sleep 
I will scale yonder rocky wall or I'll leap 

To the chasm that yawns below ! ' 

" So, casting his robe and his head-gear by, 

And also his hunting knife — 
' Enough, Sire,' he said, ' I would climb the sky, 
Where the storm-god howls when the clouds 
rush by — 

Looneenah shall be my wife ! ' 

" Away he springs toward the wall of stone ; 

The villagers follow him. 
' The cliffs are haunted,' the old men groan, 
' By Mal-Ko-Ho-Rik, go not alone 

In the shadow of evening grim ! ' 

Eagle Eyrie. Near the top of the cliff, beneath the 
" Eyrie," was a dark cavern, which was said to be in- 
habited by Jee-bi, or demons of darkness, of which Mal- 
Ko-Ho-Rik was chief. — Indian Legends. 

[20] 



" * Beware of the ghosts of the crags ! ' they 
said. 

But Nonga draws deep his breath; 
He is slowly climbing, his hands outspread 
Feel for the clefts above his head — 

All, little he recks of death ! 

" He is half way up, while the dusk grows dense, 

And the night has settled drear ; 
The air is thick with the cool incense 
Of a storm that comes from we know not whence 

Through the startled atmosphere. 

" We can not see, but we hear him toil 

Up, up, in the distant gloom ; 
A loosened pebble, a bit of soil 
Falls. Ah! what's that? How our hearts re- 
coil! 

'Tis an awful cry of doom ! 

" A crash of thunder, a blinding streak, 

And the lightning-flash reveals 
Nonga, up there on the ragged peak. 
Near the Eagle Eyrie, and blanched his cheek, 

While a horror o'er us steals. 

" The fiends of the Mal-Ko-Ho-Rik host 

Surround him and hold him there; 
And, clutched by each gibbering imp and ghost, 

[21] 



They bear him away, and forever lost 
Is Nonga, the brave and fair. 



(( ( 



Farewell, Looneenah ! ' I hear him cry. 

In a voice of wild despair. 
The storm is past, and the clouds roll by, 
The full moon floats in the eastern skv, 

But the Eagle Cliff is bare! 

" The shadows shorten, the moon climbs high, 

I enter the wigwam door; 
I curse my father, I pray to die, 
I cannot sleep, for I hear that cry. 

Forever and evermore! 

" The Night stole by, and the Dawn awoke. 

Unheralded e'en by birds. 
A haze lay over the land like smoke. 
While a weird hush brooded, or shrieked, or 
^poke 

In my people's soft, low words. 

" And thus it was through the years that 
came — 
At night, in the awful storm, 
I would see in the lightning's lurid flame 
The ghosts and the cliff's ; I could hear the 
name — 
' Looneenah,' and see his form 

[2a] 



" Just as I saw him that autumn night, 
When he wailed ' farewell, good-bye 1 ' 

My hair, once raven-black, grew white; 

My life was haunted, and filled with fright; 
I longed for a time to die. 

" So nearly a score of summers sped. 

But they brought no joy to me; 
And nearly a score of winters fled. 
When a springtime came, and the birds o'erhead 

Were mating in every tree. 

" I knew that for me there would be no mate ; 

My heart had already died. 
I ceased to rail at my cruel fate ; 
I sought the lake, when the day was late. 

And gazed on its waters wide. 

" I leaned o'er a pool 'neath my weary feet, 

And I saw reflected there 
My face, now aged, that once was sweet. 
And, thinned by the years, with their storms 
and sleet. 

My faded and whitened hair. 

" With my own hands, from the white birch tree 

I fashioned a bark canoe; 
I set its prow to the sunrise sea. 
And paddled away, — I longed to be 

Far off from the scenes I knew. 

[23] 



" Far over the lake I went drifting on, 

Till the spring into summer wore. 
In the gloam of eve, in the dew of dawn — 
Awake or asleep — all the ghosts were gone. 
And I heard their gibes no more. 

" I entered a river which northward swept, 

I sailed on its bosom clear; 
The daylight faded, the shadows crept 
Across the world ; then in pe^ce I slept — - 

I knew not that Death was near. 

" I dreamed, and my childhood came back 
again. 

And laughter made, glad my dreams ; 
I saw in a vision the sunlit plain, 
I heard soft winds and the patter of rain. 

And the music of purling streams. 

" Again I dream, and I see the face "^ 

Of N^nga, and side by side 
We walk through each quiet, wooded place ; 
He clasps me "close in his fond embrace, — 

At last I am Nonga's bride ! 

" Happy are Nonga and I alway ; 

He speaks to me soft and low. 
We sit at the close of the summer day 
Near the wigwam door, where our children play, 

Or practice with spear and bow. 

[24] 



" The dream is o'er ; I awoke ; a roar 

Of waters, and that was all. 
I could not guide my canoe, I tore 
Adown the rapids, far off from shore, 

Right over this mighty fall! 

" So this is my story, and this is why 

A Spirit is held in thrall. 
And thus it is when the sunset sky 
Stains all the mists with a halo, I 

Am seen in Niagara's Fall. 

" Ten thousand moons since my life began. 
Since my heart by love was cheered. 

And, Singer, thou art the only man 

Hast heard my story ! " My face grew wan — 
The Spirit had disappeared! 

This was the Spirit I saw that day, 

There on that shelf of stone. 
This was the vision, or dream, I say, 
There where the mad waters spume and 

SPRAY 

And SPEAK in an awful tone ! 



[25] 



MY SERENADER 

(What the Convalescent Said to the Song Sparrow) 

At last the weary night is gone, 

And lifted is its gloom ; 
The glad light of a welcome dawn 

Steals softly thro the room. 
I raise the sash and shade, I blink 

To shield my tired eyes ; 
And what I hear leads me »to think 

That I'm in Paradise ! 

• 

The sound that so enraptures me 

Breaks from the pulsing throat 
Of the song sparrow ceaselessly. 

And rich in every note. 
The gamut thro from do to do 

My brown-coat minstrel sings — 
Staccato, pianissimo, ' ^i» 

And glad, wild revelings. 

I speak to him, but he, — well, he 

Keeps right on singing of 
Something that haunts his memory, 

Constant and full of love. 
He's lost in what he sings ! " Hey ! Hey ! 

My serenading friend, 
'Tis this that I would like to say, 

If you your ear will lend : — 

[26] 



" Your repertoire don't include 

Space of much consequence 
Between its numbers' interlude, — 

You halt, then re-commence ! 
You artist ! Why, you love to sing 

Just for the sake of art ! 
You pay no heed to anything 

But that which fills jour heart ! 

" If I could sing as loud as you, 

(According to my size,) 
If I could sing as sweet and true, 

In strains that harmonize, 
I'd sing until the skies would ring 

At morn or eventide. 
While seraph choirs, wondering. 

Would lay their harps aside. 

" You've sung right there for half an hour, 

You — you one-member choir ! 
I wonder at those chords of power 

From such a wee, wee lyre. 
And that which fills my noddle thro 

With thoughts sedate and long, — 
Is why a little chap like you 

Should have so big a song! " 



[27] 



ROBERT BURNS 

The blaudin' win's o' blae Janwar 
Swapt mirk an' cauld ; an' ilkawhar 
The ingle-lowe, wi' fitfu' glare, 

Shed light aboon 
The leafless shaws, the river Ayr, 

An' Ayr the toun. 

Frae out the lift a glintin' light 

Cam streamin' thro' the heart o' night ; 

An' choirs celestial sang wi' might. 

In gleefu' turns, 
As heaven oped its gates o' white, 

"An' earth saw Burns." 

A buirdly bairn at Alloway 

He grew ; he knew each bank an' brae 

An' sinny mead. Each simmer day 

Filled him wi' joy. 
Owre gowaned haughs he roamed at play, 

A happy boy. 

An eydent chiel, in youthfu' prime 
He learned the art o' sang an' rhyme ; 
An' little thoct he 'twas a crime 

To luv a lass ; 
Or laud an' praise wi' words sublime 

A frien'ly glass. 

[28] 



I 



His deft han' swept across the strings 
O' his glad harp, — an' angel wings 
Were faulded, an' sweet whisperings 

Swooned saft an' clear; 
Anither sweep an' a' mean things 

An' devils leer. 

Whyles wi' his pen dipped in the wine 
O' a' that's pure, thro' ilka line 
He sang o' luv sae sweet an' fine. 

An' which illumes 
The palace ha', or, mair divine, 

Lane cottage rooms ! 

Or, whiles, wi' glaiket han' he dipped 
His stumpie deep in mire, that dripped 
Frae aff its point, an' feckless lipped, 

He penned the things 
That stoitered lame, or drucken tripped 

On doited wings. 

The mavis an' the lav'rock's sang; 
The bumies wimplin' swift an' strang; 
The go wans a', that grew amang 

Life's sinny prime, — 
An' ilka thing that cam alang 

He wove in rhyme. 



[29] 



He lo'ed the banks o' " Bonnie Doon " ; 
He lo'ed the silver simmer moon 
That glints wi' sklentin' light aboon 

The shaws sae fair; 
But maist he lo'ed his native toun, — 

Auld toun o' Ayr. 

He sang o' kind and luving deeds ; 
Deil haet cared he for a' the creeds ; 
His paukie een, like ble^ezin' gleeds, — 

His raucle mind, 
Beheld the flowers aboon the weeds 

That vex mankind. 

An' whan he died an ourie gloom 
Hinged mirk an' cauld aboon his tomb ; 
The poussie hirpled frae the broom, 

A' sad an' lane ; 
An' bees droned by the claver blume ^ 

Whan Burns was gane. 

Owre a' this warl', — in ony tongue, 
Nae sangs mair blithe were ever sung 
Than Burns' was, whane' e'er he strung 

His lisping lyre. 
Nane ithers' harp has ever sprung 

Sic' lowan fire. 

As lang as passion's saul gies birth 
To ilka thing o' real worth, — 

[30] 



As lang's this grand an' rowan earth 

Diurnal turns, — 
We'll lo'e auld Scotia, — Ian' o' mirth 

An' Rabbie Burns. 



[31] 



HE TOL(LE)D THE BELL 

He was a sexton, old, devout. 

And he had lingered there 
An hour after church was out, 

In attitude of prayer. 
And when outside the church he went, 
He saw upon the grass. 

Their heads towards one another bent, 
A bonny lad and lass. , 

The lad there and maid there 

Were cosy as could be ; 
The sexton he saw them. 

But him they did not see. 

The sexton said, " This must not be ! 

I'll tell a po-lice-mon ! " 
He could not find one, — No, Sir — ee ! 

The po-lice-mon was gone. 
" Oi'll call the wagon up," he said, 
" And run them in, — Ochone ! " 

But as the wires were down, Bedad ! 
He could not tell-a-phone. 

He cussed then, he fussed when 

He found no one to tell ; 
And worried and flurried, 

He went and tol(le)d the bell ! 



[32] 



THE PIANIST 

The fair, white fingers softly strike the grand 

piano keys, 
And the mystic, mellow music wakens olden 

memories ; 
While a sweet and solemn sadness gently steals 

through every strain, — 
A sadness near akin to joy, — half pleasure and 

half pain. 

For her fingers seek the master chords that 
reach my very heart. 

And the thrilled and thrilling instrument sets 
all my nerves astart ; 

And my senses gladly acquiesce in happy har- 
mony 

To each swell and note and treble of the 'wil- 

dering symphony. 

\ 

As the winds of autumn sighing 'mong the foli- 
age of the trees, 

As the breath of summer morning, or the 
springtime's gentle breeze, 

As the echo of a foot-fall that for years we have 
not heard. 

As the gentle murmur of a brook, the carol of a 
bird, — 



[33] 



Is the mystic magic of her voice. 'Twould 

shame the lark or linnet ! 
I'm madly fond of music, and, ye gods! I'm 

strictly in it ! 
While the sweet notes seem to drop and drip 

from off her finger tips. 
My soul is simply ravished by those singing, 

rosy lips. 

How the lovely gray eyes twinkle, as with swift 

and silvery lances ! 
Full of fun and mirth and mischief, as toward 

me she slyly glances. 
And the witching, dimpled, pretty face, with 

3'outh and beauty beaming. 
Casts a strange influence o'er me, there beneath 

the lamp's soft gleaming. 

I turn the music for her, but, of coXirse, make 

many a blunder. 
And then she laughs at me, — she doesn't know 

the spell I'm under! 
And as I stand beside her it is hard to keep my 

fingers 
From to3'ing with the sunny curl around her 

ear that lingers. ' 

But then the clock has just struck ten ; and now 
I must be going 

[34] 



To catch the train for home again, — I hear its 
whistle blowing. 

I speed along, and still her song in echo's voice 
reminds me 

I'm somewhat interested in the girl I've left be- 
hind me. 

Yes ; I'm somewhat interested in this lovely, win- 
some woman ; 

To say that I am not would mean that I am 
not quite human. 

And who shall say I shan't admire good- 
natured Maudie Kuxkel.'' 

For she's my niece, — that's who she is ; and I'm, 
— wh}^, I'm her — uncle ! 



[35] 



LAKE TAHOE 

Doubtless one of the most (if not the most) beautiful 
bodies of water in the world is Lake Tahoe, situated in 
the Sierra Nevada Range, 6240 feet above the sea, 23 
miles long, 13 miles wide, and of a poetic irregularity 
of contour to ravish the eye of a nature-loving artist. 

Covering an area of over 200 square miles and ap- 
proximating 2000 feet in depth in places, its waters, of 
crystal purity, appear in color a rich, dark sapphire. 
Above Tahoe's level, the mountains, with star-kissed 
and eternally snow-capped peaks, rise in rugged gran- 
deur for thousands of feet. Imn^ense pines, firs and 
cedars form a serrated fringe along its shores. 

Tahoe, beautiful beyond compare, becomes at once 
elusive and baffling to the one who makes a real effort 
at featuring its many sublime aspects. I've been there; 
and I know. I wrote the sub j oined from " Tahoe 
Vista," at Tahoe's northern end, July 7, 1915. 

• GEM OF THE SIERRAS 

Tahoe : — 

Thou Gem ! Outrivaling 
The koh-i-noor, or anything 
Man's hand hath shaped, — Oh, let me sing 

This simple strain 
To thee, whose gorgeous shimmering 

Thrill heart and brain. 

Set in the high Sierran crests, 

'Twixt Mother Nature's milk-white breasts, 

Where the fierce eagles build their nests 

And rear their brood, 
And the lean grizzly roams, or rests 

In solitude. 

[36] 



Great sapphire marvel ! Deeply blue, 
Of wondrous and resplendent hue ; 
Wide-sweeping, down long vistas, thro 

Serrated ways. 
And gleaming soft as summer dew 

In moonlit rays. 

Thou Jewel ! Beautiful, serene, 
Lying the lofty peaks between. 
Whose bosom fair reflects the sheen 

Of crag and snow, 
Pine, fir and cedars' foliage green — 

Matchless Tahoe! 



[37] 



HE WOULDN'T TAKE " NO ! " FOR AN 

ANSWER 

He wouldn't take " No ! " for an answer , 

As we sat in the gloaming alone ; 
The question he asked was an old one, 

And breathed in a low undertone. 
He was a young lad, — only twenty ; 

I was a young maid, — sweet sixteen. 
I remember it all so distinctly, 

Though a score of long years intervene. 

He wouldn't take " No ! " for an answer ! 

I hung my head shyly and blushed; 
My heart beat with joy at his presence, 

And its throbbings could scarcely be hushed. 
But I was so bashful and timid 

That I just couldn't say to him " Yes " ; 
My soul thrilled at dear Johnnie's pleadings, 

And my thoughts you may easily guess. 

He told me my silence was charming^ 

" For silence," he said, " gives consent." 
He put his arm right round my waist, and 

His mind was on mischief intent. 
He forced me to kiss him, did Johnnie, 

And you know the story he told ; 
It is hardly worth while to repeat it, — 

This tale that will never grow old. 

[38] 



The whip-poor-will sang in the forest, 

And thrilled the June night with its cry ; 
The young moon, a silvery crescent, 

Hung low in the clear western sky. 
John wouldn't take " No ! " for an answer. 

And there isn't a boy or a man, Sir, 
That's built on a very good plan. Sir, 

That will listen to " No ! " for an answer. 



[39] 



LAUGHTER 

This I have said, and I say again, " No day can be so 
sacred but that the happy laugh of a child will make it 
more sacred still." 

Ingersoll. 

This I have said, and yet I say, 
There can be no such sacred day 
But that a happy laugh alway 

Will make more sacred still. 
Sweet sound that since Creation's birth 
Hath flashed thy love o'er all this earth. 
Come, fill each heart with joy and mirth 

O'er every vale and hill! 

Deft toucher of the organ keys. 
Play, — play your sweetest melodies ; 
Yet know your grandest symphonies 

Are but discordant sounds 
Compared with childhood's laugh so free, 
Where dimpled cheeks in merry glee ^ 
Touch every soul with ecstasy. 

Where love and home abounds. 

O laughter ! seek us all, we pray. 

And banish every care away ; 

Be with and cheer us every day — 

Come, sit at every feast. 
Let every happy note of thine 
Expand and grow with love divine ! 
Thou art the blessed boundary line 

Between the man and beast. 
[40] 



A FAREWELL 

Farewell, each olden, golden dream, — 
Farewell, sweet, gentle, babbling stream, — 
Farewell, ye starry lights that gleam 

In yonder limpid river ; 
Farewell, each daisied, dewy dell. 
Where soft winds weave their magic spell,- 
O scenes of youth, farewell, farewell. 

Forever and forever ! 

Farewell to childhood's happy home; 
For soon, ah, soon, the hour will come 
When I must leave, no more to roam 

Where sun-rays glance and quiver. 
Farewell, each mystic, moonlit glen, — 
Farewell, each swale, and brake, and fen ; 
Mine eyes shall view ye ne'er again. 

Forever and forever. 

Farewell to meadow, lawn and lea, — 
Farewell, O billowy, sunlit set, — 
Beside your banks my steps will be 

No more, — no more, forever! 
Farewell, each vineclad slope and hill, — 
Farewell, each wimpling, laughing rill, — 
Old scenes that make my pulses thrill, — 

Farewell ! Good-bye forever ! 



[41] 



For here will shine the silv'ry moon, 
And here, at dawn, the dove will croon, — 
But in this shade at summer noon 

I'll rest no more forever. 
And here the birds will mate and sing, 
And build their nests in balmy spring ; 
And bud and bloom will gladness bring 

Forever and forever ! 



[42] 



MY OWN DEAR AL\RY DEE 

I KNOW a girl with dark brown hair, 
With hazel eyes, and face so fair ; 
And teeth like pearl, — I do declare 

She's sweet as sweet can be ! 
Such dimpled cheeks and rosy lips, — 
And with what lightsome step she trips 
My heart from out my bosom slips 

At sight of Mary Dee. 



She has a nature kind and true. 

Her thoughts are pure as morning's dew; 

She cheers me up when I feel blue, 

By songs she sings to me. 
Her songs would shame the nightingale 
That warbles in the star-lit vale ! 
Oh, may I never, never fail 

To love sweet Marv Dee. 

The bonny subject of this rhyme 
Was bom in Erin's sunny clime. 
But left her home in summer time, 

And crossed the sea for me. 
She's dearer far to me than life, 
I'll cherish her, come peace or strife ; 
And some day I will take to wife 

My own dear Mary Dee. 



[43] 



WHERE WORDS ARE WEAK 

I WISH that I had the genius to breathe my in- 
nermost thought, — 

I wish I could form a sentence expressing my- 
self as I ought ; 

Could I create an expression as bright as the 
skies of blue, 

In which is the light of your laughing eyes, I'd 
tell what I think of you. 

If I .could sing as the seraphs sing, or write as 

the poets write, — 
If words could be made to shine as clear as the 

snows on the Alpine height, — 
If I' could conceive of a phrase as pure as the 

morn with its sparkling dew. 
Why, dearest, then I am very sure I could tell 

what I think of you ! 

But I can't sing as the seraphs sing, nor write 

as the poets .write. 
Nor could I untangle my thoughts, dear heart, 

from now till the morning's light. 
My words are weak and will not express just 

the things I would have them to ; 
So, sweetheart of mine, you will have to guess 

what I really think of you. 



[44] 



THE BABY 

Little bunch of mystery ! 
Sweet mite of humanity, 
Born of pain and ecstasy I — 

Tell me of the mysteries 

Whispered to you by the breeze 

That launched you on Life's strange seas. 

Were there many fond good-byes 
When you went from Paradise? 
Did the angels touch your eyes, 

That they shine so very bright? 
Did the stars blink pale and white 
As you passed the gates of Night? — 

Passed the gates of Night to come 
To our love, — to fill our home 
Full of fragrance, bud and bloom ! 

Bonny man in embryo, — 
Image of your daddy, O, 
Stretch your arms, and laugh and crow ! 

In your grand, imperious way 
Rule us all, and we'll obey, 
Willing subjects day by day. 

[45] 



O my baby, sweet and fair ! 
Scratch my face and pull my hair 
Till the tears come, — I don't care. 

We don't care how big a fuss 
You make ; only stay with us, — 
Here, ma ! Change the little cuss 



[46] 



THE FAIREST OF CREATION 

This world gives love to nearly all 

In one way or another; 
Some love things great, some love things small, 

And some all love would smother ! 
And some, they say, in loving err. 

But then " to err is human." 
Perhaps that's why most men love her 

Whom God first called a woman. 

She was made, 'tis said, from part of man 

As he lay sweetly dreaming, — 
Created on an equal plan, 

With life and vigor teeming ; 
Bone of his bone, flesh of his flesh, 

And muscle of his muscle ; 
She wore a fig-leaf for a dress, 

But never wore a bustle ! 

Adam awoke and found he'd lost 

A rib in his sound slumber ; 
The woman him did thus accost : 

" I am the missing number." 
He stood erect with staring eyes. 

Put out his hand to reach her. 
For he beheld, in glad surprise. 

She was a winsome creature. 



[4.7] 



Then Adam said, " I gaze upon 

The fairest of creation ; — 
More sparkling than the dewy dawn — 

I have a strong temptation 
To give you just one kiss, my love, — 

I think I'd never rue it." 
A voice benign said from above, 

" Adam, she's yours, go to it ! " 

And thus it was the happy pair. 

By sighing streamlets sporting. 
Went hand in hand through Eden fair. 

Kissing, caressing, courting. 
The birds, the butterflies, the bees. 

And even the flowers a-bloomin', — 
They all went laughing in their sleeves 

To watch the man and woman. 

The birdies said : " We've known our mates. 

Through all times, near and distant ; — 
No wonder she man's soul elates 

Till he's not quite consistent! " 
The little flow'rets shyly blushed 

There in the evening's gloamin'. 
And e'en the winds their voices hushed 

When man first courted woman ! 

And so it is that all mankind 
Forever will admire 

[48] 



Woman, sublime in every clime,- 
She sets our souls on fire ! 

As long as I'm in love with life,- 
As long as I am human, — 

As long as I've a loving wife, 
I'll not cease loving woman. 



[49] 



NANNIE McSHANE 

(THE WANDERER'S RETURN) 

O Nannie McShane, I am waitin' for thee, 
Awauk frae your slumber an' open the door; 
Oh, greet me ance mair wi' the glint o' your ee, 
As ye did ere I wandered frae Scotia's fair 

shore. 
An' hae ye forgotten the vows that we said, 
As our hearts madly thrabbed wi' luv's pain ; 
An' how on my plaidie ye cuddled your head. 
Whan I kissed ye, sw^eet Nannie McShane? 

Chorus 
Oh, come to the window! Oh, dpen it wide, 
An\drive frae my heart a* the pain. 
Ye promised me faithfully ye'd he my hride, — 
My bonnie, sweet Nannie McShane, 

The morn is awauk, while the grass is agleam 
Wi' dew, an' the thorn is a'twitter wi' sang; 
The lav'rock an' mavis lilt there by the stream. 
While I hae been waitin' sae lang, — ah, sae 

lang ! 
Come, open the window ! Oh, open it wide. 
An' let me behold ye again. 
Ye canna forget how ye stood at my side, 
An' promised me, Nannie McShane. 

Chorus 
[50] 



A face in the window ; thank Heaven, 'tis she i 
Her footsteps fa' lightly, she opens the door ; 
Her form is sae fair ; an' the glint o' her ee 
Is bright as it was in the glad days o' yore. 
She springs owre the lawn, an' she flies to my 

arms ; 
A' vanished my fear an' a' pain. 
Her warm rosy lips greet my ain ; my alarms 
Hae vanished. Gude Nannie McShane! 

Chorus 



[51] 



MONA LEE 

Mona Lee ! Mona Lee ! 
Years ago it was that we 
Roamed and romped around or rambled where 

the river ran in glee. 
Barefoot girl and freckled boy, 
Both hearts brimming with the joy 
And the fairy dreams that youthful minds 

employ. 

Mona Lee ! Mona Lee ! 
How in happy harmony 
Did we lilt with lifted laughter in our merry 
minstrelsy ; 
. You and I beneath the sky 
Where the summer days went by, 
Living, liking, — knomng not the reason why ! 

Mona Lee, quick the years 
Passed away, and then the tears. 

And the sweets and hopes of loving," as our child- 
hood disappears. 
You were shy, but I was bold. 
And I begged to have and hold 

In my keeping for all time your heart of gold. 

Mona Lee ! Mona Lee ! 

When you gave your heart to me, 

[52] 



Then a light came in my life that " never shone 
o'er land or sea." 
And the leafy, lisping limes 
Heard the whispering of rhymes, 

As I wove your name in song's delicious chimes. 

Mona Lee, when your eyes 

Lost the light of summer skies, — 



When the angels asked for you and beckoned 
you to Paradise, — 
When we buried my fair bride, 
In the hush of eventide, 
Then the weary heart within me swooned and 
died. 

Mona Lee, far away — 

Where the salt seas spume and spray — 
Over ocean's briny bosom to the earth's end did 
I stray. 

Forty years and more have passed, — 

Forty yearSy — and I, at last. 
Stand beside your grave in winter's biting blast. 

Mona Lee, from the skies, — 
From your home in Paradise, — 
Look far out — ah ! look and listen — while my 
sad song sobs and dies ! 
Mona Lee, oh, beckon me 
To that fair Eternity, — 
Where you dwell in bowers of beauty, — Mona 
Lee! 

[53] 



BEYOND THE YEARS 

" Is there beyond the Silent Night 

An Endless Day? 
Is Death a door that leads to Light? 

We cannot say. 
The tongueless secret locked in fate 
We do not know — we hope and wait." 

Ingersoll. 

Beyond man's mortal ken — beyond the 
years ■ — 
When sighs shall cease, and weary eyes shall 
close, 
Is all but dreamless sleep and calm repose? 
Or is there an awakening, where we may 
know 
And feel the .pangs of bitterness and woe.^^ 
And does this salutation brief: "Good 
night!" 
End all.'^ Or gleams there yet another light — 

Beyond the years? 

Beyond the years — Ah, me ! Beyond the 
years, 
When life's short span is over, whereaway ? 
And does the soul, immortal, swoon and sway 
In strange forgetfulness? And does oblivion 
come 
And brood? And is the spirit speechless all 
and dumb? 



[54] 



Or does it hover round each olden scene, 
And live again, with memory tense and keen — 

Beyond the years? 

Beyond the night of Death — beyond the 
years — 
Must HOPE reach no fruition, know no dawn? 
Does not awakening come, and time go on 
As now? Are not the soul's fair dreams all 
satisfied? 
Or is the spirit drenched with fears, and horri- 
fied 
At its beholdings? Comes there not a gleam 
Of light that cheers, — whose rays shall ever 
stream 

Beyond the years? 

Beyond the ^^ears — far, far beyond the years ! 

Though, SOUL OF MINE, I qucstion, I believe 
That I shall live again ; nor shall I grieve 

The heart of hearts Avithin me, that shall 
never die. 
And which shall know no pain while Time rolls 

by, 

Or seons pass. I yet shall live again, 
All purged and cleansed of sin's vile, damning 
stain — 

Beyond the years ! 



[55] 



A GIRL FROM KENTUCKY 

Well, William, my boy, you are married, they 

say. 
And I hope that you always may bless that glad 

day 
Which carried you over the border, away 
Where the maidens are fair, and men plucky. 
You have chosen your bride from a State that 

is known 
From the lakes of the North to the sunny Gulf 

zone 
As the place from which chivalry never has 

flown, — 
The beautiful state of Kentucky ! 

Poets rave about sweet Senoritas from Spain, 

And the beautiful Ma'm'selles of France's do- 
main, 

But I want to compliment you once again. 

And say that I think you are lucky 

To choose 3^ou a bride from our own native 
land, — 

For America's daughters are peerless and 
grand, — 

And the fairest of these, you, of course, un- 
derstand 

Is the one whom you wed in Kentucky. 



[56] 



ALONE 

'Tis midnight on the stormy deep, 
The wild winds sadly moan; 

Of all the souls once on this ship 
I'm here alone, alone ! 

Oh, can it be the solemn sea 

Has swallowed up each friend? 

Is there no way I can escape, — 
Is this to be mv end? 

The thunders crash ; the lightning's flash 
Lights up the gloomy place. 

There is no answer to my cry, 
I see no other face. 

I hear the sound and dreary pound 

Of seas upon the sand; 
But I am shipwrecked and alone, — 

There is no help at hand. 

The lowering cloud casts wide its shroud. 

The billows loudly roar; 
The angry waves all madly rave, 

And lap the murky shore. 

O God of love, who reignst above. 
Wilt thou the storm abate? 

[57] 



Thou who canst save me if thou wilt, — 
Is death to be my fate? 

O Christ, who walked on Galilee, 
The winds obeyed thy will ; 

Oh, save me from the cruel waves, — 
Say to them, "Peace, be still!" 

'Tis vain ! I hear the breakers roar, 

I know that I am lost; 
Receive my soul, thou blessed one, 
' Who died upon the cross* 



[58] 



WHEN DAYLIGHT FADES 

When daylight fades, and when the evening 

bells 
Send echoes over meadow, vale and stream; 
When in each solemn tone a sadness dwells, 
As sweet as mem'ries of an olden dream; 
When shadows creep across the world, and when 
A mystic hush the peaceful time pervades, — 
It brings to me the days of old again. 
When daylight fades. 

When dayhght fades, and rosy afterglow 
Of twilight gleams in amber, red and gold; 
When from the pasture comes the quiet " low " 
Of kine, and bleat of sheep in wattled fold ; 
When from the vines the noisy cricket thrums. 
And katydids awake the gloomy shades, — 
Oh, what a flood of recollection comes. 
When daylight fades! 

When daylight fades, and " swirls of honeyed 

musk " 
Steal over all the earth in summer's green ; 
When " boist'rous beetles boom along the 

dusk " ; 
With fireflies dancing in and out the scene ; 
When frogs are heard along the river's rim, 



[59] 



And hooting owls awake the forest glades, — 
'Mid such surroundings oft I think of him, 
When daylight fades. 

^Vhen daylight fades, I think of days that were, 
Long, long ago ; and of the manly form 
That walked beside me ; — he, my worshipper, 
My shield and my defense in every storm 
Of life. But, oh ! he died one summer's even, 
And passed away to silence and the shades 
Of death! And so I dream of him and 
r Heaven — 

When daylight fades ! 



[60] 



THE GLAD YESTERDAY 

*' Though, for the soul, a lovely Heaven awaits 

Through years of woe. 
The Paradise with angels at its gates 

Is Long Ago. 

" The heart's lost home ! Ah, thither winging ever, 

In silence, show 
Vanishing faces, but they vanish never 

In Long Ago." 

JoHK James Piatt. 

Where are the Junes of yesterday.'* 
Gone whitherward, and where-a-way 
The silver Dawns that once we knew, 
The sweet breath of the mom, the dew. 
The sunny fields, when skies were clear, 
With rose-scent through the atmosphere 
All redolent. Oh, where a-way 
Are all the Junes of yesterday .^^ 

Where are the songs of yesterday.'* 
Where is each ringing roundelay 
That thrilled the happy hearts of us, 
And trilled away all glorious. 
Or, spilled across the babbling rills. 
Re-echoed back from out the hills 
In middle day or twilight gray, — 
Where are the songs of yesterday .f* 

Where are the dreams of yesterday .^^ 
Too bright to last ! Ah, well-a-day ! 

[61] 



From iridescent hue to bay, 

From emerald to grassless gray, 

They all have changed. Each sprite and fay 

Has vanished from our thoughts away. 

Where bide they all.'' Oh, where, I say, 

Are all the dreams of yesterday.? 

Where are the friends of yesterday.? 
The boys with whom we used to play 
At " hookey," stealing from the school 
To where the shades, inviting, cool. 
Fell over us. Where quickly stripped 
Of all our clothes, we splashed and dipped 
Or swam, while sped the hours away. 
Where are the boys of yesterday.? 

Where are they all, — the sunny Junes, 
The mornings, mid-days, afternoons. 
The songs of old, the gladful dreams, 
The lisp and gurgle of the streams. 
The boys, the woods, the echoings, 
The merry, mirthful revelings.? 
Oh, lead us back ! we've gone astray ; 

Lead back to the glad yesterday ! 

• • • • • • ■ • 

Halt, Time and Years ! about face ! Hey, 
Forward ! March back to yesterday ! 



[62] 



ROBERT BURNS' REVERIE 

(WHERE HIGHLAND MARY SLEEPS) 

Whare lavVock an' the mavis wauk the blush- 
in', modest dawn, 

An' whai*e the linties' pipin' sangs in echoings 
is blawn; 

Whare gowans grow an' thrissles wave owre 
stany shipe an' hill, 

Whare bauckie-birds whir thro' the shades in 
e'en when a' is still, — 

Whare starnies blink frae 'boon the lift wi' 
glancin', sklentin' light 

Whare whiddin' poussies hirple owre the fields 
wi' timid flight ; 

Whare lanely croaks the houlet frae the gloomy, 
ivied tower, 

An' whare the moon hings solemnly in mid- 
night's eerie hour, — 

Whare sinny sunnier first unfaulds the bloom o' 

birken shaws, 
An' whare the win' sincrs sweetlv as thro' tittlin' 

\*ines it blaws. 
An' whare auld Afton's waters rin alang in 

shoals an' deeps, — 
Oh, there in waukless dream for aye my Hilan' 

Mary sleeps ! 

[63] 



Flow gently, ilka wimplin' burn, blaw gently, 

ilka breeze. 
An' saft caress the foggage an' the limbs o' a' 

the trees. 
Shine sweetly on, O moon an' stars, owre mead 

an' moor an' steeps, — 
Weep, a' ye dews, aboon the bed whare Hilan' 

Mary sleeps ! 



[64] 



WHEN THE LEAVES DROP OFF'N 
THE TREES 

(Without arj apology to James Whitcomb 

Riley) 

In the fall, when the leaves drop off'n the trees, 

An' yer out in the woods agin. 
Jest roamin' eround an' at puffect ease — 

In pleasure clean up to yer chin ; 
In the warm ov the Injin Summer da}^, 

Ye're ez glad ez a dorg ^\dth fleas, 
An' wishin' to God ye wuz back in the May 

Ov yer life — there ermong the trees : 
Whv, it sets ye thinkin', in days like these. 
In the fall, when the leaves drop off'n the trees. 

While the leaves is droppin' down off'n the trees, 

An' the blue-jays is yellin' there, 
Forever a voicin' their fool idees, 

An' screamin' an free from care ; 
While the sassy squir'ls is a twittin' ye 
^ About yer infiraiitees. 
An' paw-paws is yaller'n gold — ■ an' " free " — 

\^liile the leaves drop off'n the trees — 
Ye like to be lazy an' do ez ye please. 
In the fall, when the leaves drop off'n the trees. 

When the wind blows the leaves down off'n the 
trees, 
An' their ga'nt lim's is almost bare ; 

[65] 



When they seem, ez they quake an' shake in the 
breeze, 

Somewhat like yer own lim's air — 
Why, ye wish ole Time would have flew away 

To the airth's antipodees, 
An' left ye alone — jest a boy at play — 

With no " anivarsarees ! " 
Well, ye hate ole age an' its miserees. 
In the fall, when the leaves drop ofF'n the trees. 

Ez ye wade knee-deep in the rustlin' leaves, 

An' kick 'em, ez once ye did, 
Enjoyin' the cool, sweet wind, that grieves — 

Ez it didn't when ye wuz a kid; 
When ye grab off yer hat frum yer ole bald 
head, 

WTiile, borne on the Autumn breeze, 
There echoes the shoutin' ov chums — long 
dead — 

An' the leaves drop pff'n the trees: 
Why, it's melancholy in days like these. 
In the fall, when the leaves drop off'n the trees. 

An' yit, when the leaves drop off'n the trees, 
An' yer brow is by frost o'erflecked. 

Ye feel like thankin' God, there on yer knees, 
Fer the pleasure ov retrospect; 

An' ye thank him more fer yer thinkin' brain. 
That yit kin retain idees. 

[66] 



Tho' ye cain't be vounff ez ve wuz aganc 

Ye kin wander emiong the trees — 
An- do yer own thinkin', in days like these, 
In the fall, when the leaves drop oiFn the trees. 



[67] 



LAND OF THE USED-TO-BE 

Oh, sing us a song of the long ago — 

A song of our childhood days ; 
Oh, sing of the things that we used to know, 

When fancy was all ablaze; 
And let every note of it ring out clear 

With a musical melody. 
To carry us back to the comfort and cheer 

Of the land of the Used-To-Be. 

Oh,' sing us a song of our boyhood's prime. 

When " sure enough " Santa Claus 
Filled every stocking at Christmas time, 

" Afore we kuowed who he was." 
And fill us again with the joyful dreams. 

Where all is glad mystery ; 
Come, sing us a song of the sunny streams 

In the land of the Used-To-Be. 

Strike every note till the organ wails 

And sobs with the echoing ; 
Then sing of Hans Andersen's Fairy Tales, 

And sing of Aladdin's ring; 
And tell how the Genii came from the vase. 

To travel o'er land and sea. 
And build up a palace just any place 

In the land of the Used-To-Be. 



[68] 



Oh, sing us the song that the robin trilled 

Just after the summer showers ; 
And sing of the meadow, all daisy frilled, 

The bumblebees and the flowers. 
Oh, sing to us, sing to us once again, 

Change all of our care to glee ; 
Awaken us all with the glad refrain 

Of the land of the Used-To-Be. 

Then low as the moan of the mournful dove. 

And soft as the June day's close ; 
And gentle and tender as mother's love. 

And sweetly as twilight grows ; — 
Oh, quietly sing us to blissful rest. 

Where slumbering dreamily. 
We, barefooted, toddle right back to the blest 

Old land of the Used-To-Be. 



[69] 



SCENES OF OTHER YEARS 

I REMEMBER, I remember all the scenes of other 

years, 
And a longing fills my bosom, as my eyes grow 

dim with tears ; 
For I'd love to wander back again to boyhood's 

glorious prime, 
But soon my brows will whiten with the touch 

of age's rime. 
The stream where I went swimming in the days 

of long ago, — 
Along whose sunny banks the plum and alder 

used to grow, — 
Is shorn of every shady nook, the plum and 

alder gone. 
And grain now waves where piping birds once 

charmed the blushing dawn. 

I remember, I remember every tree in that big 

grove, 
Where all alone for happy hours I often used 

to rove, 
And how I watched the squirrel climb the oak 

and walnut trees, 
Or leaning 'gainst some giant bole, I sipped the 

summer breeze. 
But oh, alas ! the woodman's axe has let the 

sunlight in, 

[70] 



Where for a hundred vears or more its ravs 

have seldom been; 
And rotting stumps alone remain where forest 

monarclis grew, 
Whose grateful shade again will never shelter 

me or jou. 

I remember, I remember every youthful, happy 

face 
Of companions of my younger days, in that be- 
loved place; 
Some I've not seen for many years, and some 

I'll see no more, 
And some have joined the silent throng upon 

the other shore. 
From out the past there comes to me the trill, 

the laugh, the shout 
Of barefoot boys and happy girls in merry 

romp and rout. 
But while I live my eyes will see, though oft 

bedimmed by tears. 
The sunny gleams, the joyous dreams, the 

scenes of other years. 



[71] 



BELSHAZZAR'S REVEL 

" In the same hour came forth fingers of a man's hand, 
and wrote over against the candlestick, upon the plaster 
of the wall, of the king's palace." — Dak. 5:5. 

"And this is the writing that was written: Mene, 
MENE, TEKEL, uPHARsix." — Dan. 5:25. 

In the Babylonian capital was spread a sump- 
tuous feast; 

There the wicked young Belshazzar and the 
nobles of the East 

With ribald mirth were dancing, in a madden- 
ing revelry, — 

They did not know the Lord of Hosts had 
written this decree : - 

'* MENE,' MENE, TEKEL, UPHARSIN." 

While they drank from golden vessels, — 
stolen, each and all of them, — 

Stolen from God's holy temple in far off Jeru- 
salem, — 

Little heeded they or cared they, as their mirth 
was at its height, 

That this prophecy was spoken, and would be 
fulfilled that night : 

" MENE, MENE, TEKEL, UPHARSIN." 

There were hidden bands of music, there was 

perfume rich and rare. 
And a sweet intoxication charmed the senses 

everywhere ; 

[72] 



There were maidens clad in scanty robes, half 

crazed with sensuous glee, 
While the mystic messenger of God was writing 

this decree: 

" MENE, MENE, TEKEI,, UPHARSIN." 

As the young king and his cohorts drank and 

held high carnival, 
A mysterious, shadowy presence seemed to 

beckon to them all. 
And a spectral hand crept slowly from the 

black sleeve of the Night, 
And 'gainst the candlestick upon the palace 

wall did write: 

" MENE, MENE, TEKEL, UPHARSIN." 

Every face grew white and blanched with fear; 

the king, in awful dread. 
Said, " Bring forth the wise astrologers, that 

this writing may be read; 
Bring Chaldeans and soothsayers, — say it is 

the king's command 
That they read these words mysterious, that 

all may understand: 

" MENE, MENE, TEKEL, UPHARSIN." 

'Mongst astrologers, Chaldeans, soothsayers, 
— one and all, — 

None could truthfully interpret God's hand- 
writing on the wall. 

[73] 



Then the Hebrew captive, Daniel, — who had 

seen four score of years,-^ 
Was commanded by Belshazzar to explain, and 

still their fears : 

" MENE, MENE, TEKEL, UPHARSIN ! " 



(( 



MENE!" spake the aged Daniel, "in the 
balance thou art weighed, — 

In the balance, — and found wanting," and the 
king grew sore afraid; 

" TEKEL ! — PERES ! — thy great kingdom 
is divided, and is done. 

And BELSHAZZAR will be cold in death be- 
fore tomorrow's sun!" 

" MENE, MENE, TEKEL, UPHARSIN ! " 

So it seems to us God's finger in the royal pal- 
ace hall 

Of the wicked kingdoms of this earth at last 
upon each wall 

Will trace these mystic letters in the .fullness 
of His time. 

That will cleanse and purge out wickedness in 
evry land and clime: 

" MENE, MENE, TEKEL, UPHARSIN ! " 



[74] 



JOHN MULLIGAN ME JO 

John Mulligan, me jo, John, 

Th' day that we were wid, 

Yer oies were loike the sthars, John, 

Yer hair was foiry rid; 

Whin Father Grady made us one 

Ye said ye loved me, O, 

And I belaved ye towld th' truth, 

John Mulligan me jo. 

John Mulligan me jo, John, 

Ye towld th' praste a loie; 

Now ye're in pollytiks, John, 

Ye wink th' other oie 

At ivery purty gurrul, John. 

Since ye're a " cop," ye know, 

Ye're on th' mash most av yer toime, 

John Mulligan me jo. 



5? 



John Mulligan me jo, John, 
Since ve wint on th' " foorce,' 
Ye air no good at all, John, 
Around th' house, av coorse; 
Ye'll not bring kindlin' in, ner coal, 
Ner schovel aff th' schnow, — 
Ye growl and grumble all th' toime, 
John Mulligan me jo. 



[75] 



John Mulligan me jo, John, 

If ye don't soon imphrove, 

Oi'll pack up all th' goods, John, 

Be jabbers and Oi'll move; 

And whin ye come fram afF yer beat, 

Ye'll foind no one to go 

And black yer shoes, and shoine yer club, 

John Mulligan me jo! 



[76] 



AT BELLA WILSON'S GRAVE 



With dewy eyes and beating heart I stand be- 
side this grave, 

Where balmy winds are whispering, and where 
the grasses wave. 

The meadow lark is caroling liis piping roun- 
delay. 

Just as he piped long years ago through every 
sweet spring day. 

I hear the kildee wail and call across the ver- 
dant lea; 

I hear the sad notes of the dove, as if it 
mourned with me. 

Above this pulseless breast I place, with loving 

hand, these flowers. 
In memory of other years, — of other, sunnier 

hours. 

Good-bye, my friend of years ago! I reach 

my hand to you. 
But no response comes up to me from 'neath 

the sod and dew. 

For, voiceless lipped, in calm repose you dream 

the hours away. 
Through crimson dawn, through sunny noon, 

and in the twilight gray. 

[77] 



And while the moon and solemn stars their si- 
lent watches keep, 

Away from every care of earth all tranquilly 
you sleep. 

And here, in voice of pulsing grief, I breathe 

farewell, farewell! 
God rest your soul! God comfort us who 

mourn for " Brown-eyed Dell." 



[78] 



MARY MUNDIE 

Hair of raveled sunshine, spun 
Into golden threads, that run 
Over brows as pure and white 
As the snows of downy light; 

Teeth of clearest hue, that gleam 
As a pearl in noon-day's beam; 
Smile as sweet as morning dawn 
When the summer day comes on ; 

Rosy lips, and cheeks that vie 
With the June-time's evening sky, — 
This is Mary Mundie! 



L'ENVOI 



Mary Mundie's form of grace, 
Mary's fine, bewitching face, — 
And Mary Mundie's laughing eyes 
Would lure a saint from Paradise. 



[79] 



THE OLD CHOIR 

In retrospective mood to-night 

I sit beside the cosy blaze; 
While memory takes a backward flight, 

I think of by-gone days. 
As in a dream I drowsily 

Recall the past, and whispering 
From somewhere come these words to me: 

" I'd love to hear the old choir sing ! " 

Oh, just to hear those voices roll 

In " Rock of Ages," " Kindly Light," 
In " Jesus, Lover of My Soul," 

Or " Round the Throne of White." 
And o'er the years that lie between 

The present and the sunny spring 
Of life's best prime, ah, me ! I ween 

I often hear that old choir sing. 

I'd love to hear the Sunday School 

In chorus there, the old and young, 
Repeat once more the " Golden Rule," 

When opening songs were sung. 
I'd love once more to hear the notes 

Of Popple's skillful fingering, — 
A prelude — then from chorused throats 

I'd love to hear the old choir sing. 



[80] 



Oh, days of old! Oh, homes bereft! 

Oh, Death's cold touch so drear and dire ! 
For few, indeed, I know are left 

Of that, the old-time choir. 
Some of them freed from earthly pain, 

Some o'er the world are wandering, 
And e'en if I were there again 

I could not hear the old choir sing. 

But when I've gone to my last rest, 

And stand outside the open gate 
Of pearl and jasper, where the blest 

Of God shall congregate, — 
Oh! may there fall upon my ears 

These words of joy and welcoming: 
" Come, weary one, through ceaseless 
years — 

Come in and hear the OLD CHOIR sing ! " 



[81] 



OLD DAD DUBBS 

Everyone knowin' him spoke ov him 

As " Dad, — OP Dad," — though his name was 

Jim. 
And he wasn't old, ner he wasn't gray, 
Some one had nick-named him jest that-a-way. 
Thirty-five year, er it may be some less. 
Was 'bout as old as he was, I guess ; 
And this was a sayin' that 01' Dad had, — 
He called every one he knew, good er bad : 
''^A purty good sort ov a feller." 

Every blame kid in the neighborhood 

Knew well enough- that 01' Dad was good. 

Even the dogs in the alley or street 

Came to the gates er the fences to meet 

01' Dad Dubbs, and to lick his hand; 

Barkin', as if they could understand. 

They'd talk with their tails, fer dogs talk that 

way, — 
And jest as plain as dogs kin they'd say, 
" Dad's a purty good sort ov a feller." 

Most kindest mortal you ever saw! 
The dreamy cows would fergit to chaw 
Their cuds, if 01' Dad crossed the pasture, and 
Come up to him, where they'd gently stand 
Fer Dad's caress. Every hoss would poke 
Its head through the bars fer a kindly stroke 

[82] 



Ov the big soft hand. Why, the cats all knew 
That Dad was the kindest ov mortals, too. 
As honest as sunlight, he always paid 
The last cent ov every debt he made. 
But he'd git angry at times, and swear 
So long and loud that the very air 
Got blue and trembled. And then OP Dad 
Would hate hisself, and he'd feel so bad 
That he'd stay out in the wind or rain 
Till he got cool, then come home again, 
As a purty good sort ov a feller. 

The Parson he worried about 01' Dad. 

" I vum," said the Parson, " that man's all 

bad." 
So he talked with Dad about sin. Dad smiled, 
Sayin', " I'm all right ef I don't git riled. 
Though I cain't preach, and I seldom pray." 
Well, the Parson's team once run away, 
And the Parson's life was in jeopardy. 
Dad caught the team as it flitted by. 
" What shall I pay you," the Parson said, 
" Fer savin' my life? " Dad shook his head, — 
" You owe me nothin' at all," says he, 
" You'd perhaps have done the same thin^ fer 

em." 
" But what shall I do ? " said the Parson then, 
" To show my thanks to the best ov men ; 
Is there naught I can do, is there naught I 

can say.'' " 

[83] 



" Yes," says Dad, " tell the Lord the next time 

you pray, 
' Dad's a purty good sort ov a feller.' 



J5 



Along in his youth Dad had been in love. 
And led to the altar a sunny haired dove. 
And Dad at that time was called James, and 

she 
Was known as the belle, petite sweet Marie! 
Things went all right fer about a year; 
He called her angel, she called him dear. 
The honeymoon over, and then said Marie: 
" Jim Dubbs is too slow fer a lady like me." . 
A flashy dressed stranger came 'long, and 

stayed 
Till he and Marie got acquainted, and laid 
Their plans to elope ; and they took Jim's team 
And skipped, while Jim dozed in a peaceful 

dream. 
The Vig'lance Committee gave chase, and 

brought 
Mr. Flashy Dressed Stranger back, and folks 

thought 
That blood would be spilled. Jim eyed the 

thief 
A moment, then said, with a sigh ov relief, — 
" You're a purty good sort ov a feller ! " 

The boss thief got twenty-five years in the pen, 
And Marie went to live with her mother again. 

[84] 



Jim went tradin' hosses, and right from that 

day 
Jest seemed to git old and stay that-a-way. 
He didn't complain, but 'twas plain to be seen 
He had a suspicion most women was mean. 
He seldom would look at a woman, and they 
Nick-named him " 01' Dad," in a half teasing 

way. 
He wasn't no angel, — not by any sorts ; 
Fact is, he had many odd-come-shorts. 
Swappin' oy hosses he wouldn't tell 
The hull blame truth, fer he'd swap, as well, 
A lie er two with the feller which 
Was braggin' his hosses good p'ints, and sich. 
He wasn't no saint ner no hypocrit, — 
He was simply, as some folks remember him yit, 
Jest a purty good sort ov a feller. 

Alwa3's ambitious at talkin', and yit 
Xeyer a-sp'ilin' fer svork one bit. 
Patientest feller you eyer haye saw. 
If fishin' was good 'long the Mackinaw. 
Never got tired, ef he could but jest 
Do nothin' else 'cept hunt squirrels — er rest. 
Best shot with a rifle there was there around 
And no keener sportsman could eyer be found 
Sometimes he'd go to the bar-room and spend 
The half oy a night with some other friend, 
Smokin' and drinkin' oy cider er beer, 
Er playin' keerds, jest to keep up cheer. 

[85] 



Reelin' in home at " wee sma' hour," 
Nuther ill natured, er crabbed, er sour. 
His mother would scold, and she'd say to him, 
In a half sarkastikal way, " Well, Jim, 
My, but you're a good sort ov a feller." 

Dad never had anything mean to say 
Ov any one ; he wa'n't built that way. 
Always found suthin' by way ov excuse 
Fer others' failin's. And 't wa'n't no use 
To talk with him, er to argify 
Regardin' ov any man's perfidy. 
He'd say, ' The hull thing is jest this-a-way : 
Keep still less you've got suthin' good to say. 
I want to speak well ov a man," says he, 
'* Er I'll keep my durned mouth shet, by Gee ! 
I never knowed any one yit," he'd say, 
" Entirely puffect in every way. 
Fact ov the hull matter is, I swan. 
The man without fault ha'n't yit been bo'n. 
And so I'd ruther jest say ov a man. 
Though he may be built on an orn'ry plan, — 
He's a purty good sort ov a feller." 



In Eighteen-Hundred-and-Sixty-One, — 
Year that Fort Sumter was fired upon, — 
When Lincoln called fer the Volunteers, 
Dad nigh busted his lungs with cheers. 
Got a flag, made ov red, blue and white 

[86] 



Ov the daylight skies and the stars ov night; 

Waving it high in the April air, 

He mustered into the service there. 

Six months passed, and Dad, veteraned. 

Re-enlisted, and took his stand 

Along with the rest ov the boys in Blue, 

Down at the front, where the bullets flew. 

Always was cool when the shot and shell 

Hissed and screamed, jest as if all Hell 

Was loosened. When all ov the Yankees 

cussed 
The Johnnie, Dad said, " Boys, he ain't the 

wust, — 
He's a purty good sort ov a feller." 

" I know Johnnie Reb ain't as bad as he 

Is painted by some," 01' Dad says 'ee. 

" Fer I 've drunk whiskey from his canteen, 

\\Tien nobody else was eround er seen 

The Yanks and the Rebs, on the picket line, 

Swappin' jack-knives fer terbacker er wine. 

Anyhow, we didn't pledge our hates 

To the Boys in Gray from the Southern 

States ; 
We're not fightin' them pussonally. 
We're combattin' their wrong idee ! 
We're jest fightin' to keep the Flag 
Frum bein' trailed as a wuthless rag. 
And to show that no people don't live nowhere 

[87] 



As kin keep God's Emblem from God's pure 

air. 
We hate no one, but we'll lick the world 
Jest to float OLD GLORY,— and when it's 

furled 

Ag'in in peace, — then the Boy in Gray 

Will be our brother, and then you'll say — 

' He's a purty good sort ov a feller.' " 
• •••••• 

PETERSBURG ! — None ov the Boys fergits 
The firin' line, ner the rifle pits. 
01' Dad there in the bilin' sun 
In one ov them pits, a sharp-shooter's gun 
Gripped close in his hands ; and with him there 
A brave young boy, with a face as fair 
As a maiden's. " He, with his curly head, 
Looks puny, — but Hell with his gun," Dad 

said. 
A bullet tore through the lungs and breast 
Of the fair haired boy, and at his request 
Dad took the boy in his arms, and leapt 
Right into view, where Death's carnage swept. 
He made a run in the face ov all, 
And brought his charge to the hospital. 
Dad was riddled with Southern lead, 
But p'inting straight upward, he, dying, said: 
" HE's a p-urt-y go-o-d sort — ov — a 

Fel-1-ler ! " 



[88] 



A man as will give up his life to save 
A comrade cain't sleep in no unknown grave. 
So, wrapped in the Blue and the Red and White 
Ov the daylight skies, and the stars ov night. 
They sent Dad home, and the old band played 
His funeral dirge in the court-house shade. 
" We're proud, 01' Dad, that you fit and bled 
And died for the boy and the Flag," they said. 
So they marched out there near the edge of 

town. 
And buried Dad jest as the sun went down. 
And the drums beat " taps," while the bugles 

said, 
" Lights out." A salute to the hero dead 
Was fired; and somebody placed the Red 
And the Blue and WTiite over 01' Dad's head. 
Soon a marble slab in the noon-day shone, 
On which some wag writ : " Here, all alone. 
Sleeps a purty good sort ov a feller." 

And so I hope when the all -kind Lord 
Called 01' Dad in fer his just reward. 
The angel that always has kept account 
Ov heart-conditions, did up and mount 
Right there on the gates ov pearl, and say, 
" Come in. Dad, and git you a harp to play. 
You ain't no saint, but I'm satisfied 
There's lots ov room 'mongst the glorified 
Fer a purty good sort ov a feller ! " 

• •••••• 

[89] 



These is the things that was told about 
Dan Dubbs, when the Civil War played out. 



[90] 



LONGING 

I'm tired, so tired, of all this din 
Of city streets, and sounds wherein 

There's naught but rattle and j am ; 
I'm tired to death with the nervous strife. 
The hurry and rush that shorten life, — 

I long for the country's calm. 

Never the song of a thrush I hear. 
And never the morning atmosphere 

Is thrilled by the piping joys 
Of the meadow lark. The senseless cry 
Of English sparrows, as days go by. 

But adds to the city's noise. 

The sparrow lives but to feed and fight, — 
His sole ambition is greed and might; 

He breeds in the filth and slime 
Of noisome tenements, where he sees 
Life's darker side, and the dregs and lees 

Of poverty and of crime. 

Yet he is a type of a certain class 
Of people we meet, who daily pass 

Up and down, and to and fro; 
Their lives hold little, it seems to me. 
Of Nature's music and melody, — 

They selfishly come and go. 

[91] 



I long to be where I'll hear the rain 
Patter in showers o'er fields of grain; 

And again do I long to hear 
The bobwhite's voice, as his notes awake 
Echoes that sleep in the mist-veiled brake, 

And the morning's atmosphere. 

I long for the woods, where the shadows play 
At hide-and-seek through the livelong day, — 

Far off from the city's sound. 
I l9ng to sit by the shaded streams — 
Such as I knew in my youthful dreams — 

Where natural things surround. 

I long for the dusk of the summer time; 
I long to hear the tinkle and chime 

Of bells on the browsing sheep. 
I long for the scent of the clover bloom 
That floods the air with its sweet perfume 

When the day has gone to sleep. 

And so I say, as I've said before. 
Take me away, where I'll hear no more 

This wrangle and crazy noise; 
And let me live where my life will be 
Replete with each sacred melody 

That we knew when we were boys. 



[92] 



THIRTY-FIVE 

I've reached the zenith of the years allotted 

here to men; 
For should I live as many more I'll be three- 

score-and-ten. 
I'm on the summit of life's hill, and down its 

other side 
I'm surely taking my first steps out toward the 

eventide. 
I do not like to think that I am growing old, 

and yet 
Full many a summer's sun has shone, and win- 
ter's suns have set 
Since I, a barefoot, happy boy, began to live 

and thrive; — 
I've seen a score and three-fourths more of 

years, — I'm thirty-five. 

I've had a share of sorrow, and I've felt the 

thrills of love 
That come from sacred wedded bliss, and all 

the sweets thereof. 
I've kissed my first-bom's nectared lips, and 

held the little hand. 
And pressed the velvet finger-tips, gone to a 

fairer land. 
I've held my baby in these arms, and felt liis 

rosy breath 

[93] 



Upon my cheek ; and, oh ! I've seen his eyelids 

close in death. 
I've stood beside a mound of earth, but grief 

could not revive 
The fair, sweet flower that bloomed for me 

when I was thirty-five. 

The years once seemed too slow^ for me; I 

wished to see the day 
When I'd be twenty-one years old, and none 

r to scold or say 
What I should do, or shouldn't do. But, ah! 

I've learned since then, 
Though one may grow from boy to man, we 

can't be boys again. 
For one-and-twenty came at last, — and two- 

and three-and four — 
Then five — and six — and seven — and eight 

— and nine, and one year more, — 
And I was thirty ; then I said, " Time doth too 

quickly drive 
His chariot on. Oh, wait ! " I said. Alas, 

I'm thirty-five! 

" Death, time and tide wait for no man," was 

said long years ago ; 
This axiom that I learned in youth I find is 

even so. 
Time levels all and Death claims all ; the dawn 

grows into day, — 

[94] 



Then noon, then night, then eyelids close and 

one has " gone away." 
And what we call the night-time here may be 

the break of dawn 
Some other place. O patient soul, O waiting 

soul, hope on. 
I'm glad I've seen so many years, I'm glad I'm 

yet alive; — 
I hope I'll reach three-score-and-ten. I'm glad 

I'm thirty -five ! 



[95] 



COASTING YEARS AGO 

I'm not very fond of winter, but I somehow 

can't forget 
There is something in the season sort of makes 

me like it yet; 
For it brings to mind the pleasures that we 

knew long years ago, 
When the blood of youth was in us, and our 

hearts were all aglow. 
So J recall the wintry nights, when skies were 

bright and clear, 
And when the light of moon and stars blinked 

through the atmosphere. 
And now the season's here again, and fields are 

white with snow, 
I think of how we coasted down the hills long 

years ago. 

Why, in my imagination, I can hear the songs 
we trilled ; 

And I hear the joyous laughter that through 
evening's air was spilled; 

And as the smoke from my cigar floats up and 
curls away. 

It limns the loving faces of a long-lost " yes- 
terday." 

And smiling round me once again are all the 
girls and boys 

[96] 



Who were mj merry playmates, 'way out there 

in Illinois ; 
While Fancy flings aside the Past — just for 

the nonce — and so 
I'm coasting down the hill, just as I did long 

years ago. 

The big hill south of Danvers, there near Dick- 
inson's old farm, — 

Ah, how we bundled up in coats and mitts to 
keep us warm ! 

And how the lads and lassies yelled, when that 
big sled would start; 

And how the wind slowed every breath, but 
quickened every heart! 

Each second how the speed increased, until 
through every brain 

Excitement ran and rioted. But, oh, the glad 
refrain 

Of chorused voices, as we felt our coaster get- 
ting slow. 

Then stop ; then up the hill again, to have an- 
other " go." 



We didn't mind the climb at all; we walked 

close to the girls. 
Just so's to keep 'em warm, you know! Ah, 

me, the saucy curls 
That tangled coyly round each face ! No 

" Tetlow's Gossamer " 

[97] 



Was needed there to paint those cheeks, all 

wrapped in silk and fur. 
Those eyes were brighter than the stars, those 

lips were tempting sweet; 
Sometimes we slyly stole a kiss — (Who'll say 

'twas indiscreet?) 
Why, lips like those would make a saint break 

all his vows, I know! 
And spend his whole soul in one kiss, — as we 

did, years ago. 

Where are they all ? — those dear ones of my 

life's fair morning-tide. 
Some living in the old town yet, — some scat- 
tered far and wide! 
Sweet, gray-eyed Mame, and brown-eyed Dell 

have gone to sleep, I know — 
Both in the self-same grave-yard are at rest 

beneath the snow. 
And to-night the snow is falling! I look 

through the pane and see 
The mantle that it spreads o'er all the earth so 

solemnly. 
I draw the blinds, — and go to bed, to sleep — 

to dream, I know. 
Of tangled curls, — of boys and girls, — of 

COASTING YEARS AGO. 



[98] 



THE ZEPHYR'S SONG 

I COME from out the southern zone, 
I softly slip through pleasant bowers ; 

I steal across the grass, I drone 
Among the fragrant flowers. 

I sport where whirls the old mill-wheel, 
I glance along the purling streams ; 

I breathe in shady nooks, I steal 
Into the poets' dreams. 

I woo the pleasant summer day 

I filter through the swale and brake ; 

Adown the thorny glen I stray, 
I ripple o'er the lake. 

I glide across the gloamy dusk, 
I, intermittent, stir the leaves ; 

I bring the nectar and the musk 
That flood the dewy eves. 

I lighten all the cares of moil 
At close of ever}'^ swelt'ring day ; 

I fan the fevered cheek of toil, — 
Then laugh and slip away. 

I'm bred in warmth of sunny climes, 

I dwell in seas of marigold ; 
I live where blooms the lisping limes, — 

I die in winter's cold. 

[99] 



DOLL BABY DAYS 

You say that your " doll baby days " have 
gone by, 
For you now are a Miss of fourteen ; 
With your round rosy cheek and your laugh- 
ing blue eye, 
You're a beauty, my fair little queen. 
But one with experience can't well be blamed 

For the thought in his mind, and he says : 
" Don't speak of them lightly, and don't be 
ashamed 
Of your innocent doll baby days." 

In the days that will come to you soon, little 
Miss, 
You'll have pleasures, no doubt, by the score ; 
And your soul may be thrilled by a dear lover's 
kiss. 
As he pledges his faith o'er and o'er. 
But often a lover's fond fancy will wane. 
And you can't believe all that he says ; 
And sometimes the dart sped by Cupid gives 
pain, 
Which you ne'er knew in doll baby days. 

You may learn after while that this old world 
is not 
What it seems to you now, little girl ; 

[100] 



When the doll baby days for a time are forgot, 
And you're lost in society's whirl. 

For heart-aches will come to us all, Effie dear, 
As we buffet life's billows and sprays, — 

So let this advice kindly fall on your ear: 
" Don't forget the old doll baby days." 

Don't learn to speak ill of your doll baby days. 

My rosy cheeked lassie, for, oh, 
Through life's checkered scenes and its devi- 
ous ways, 

They're the happiest days you will know ! 
When in life's retrospection a pleasure is found, 

And you think of your youth and its plays, 
A halo of glory will linger around 

Those sweet, dreamy doll baby days. 



[101] 



CHILDHOOD'S SLUMBER LAND 

In Slumber Land, where dreams abide, 

Beyond the sea of Lullaby, — 
Where drowsy babies, sleepy eyed. 
Forget to moan or sob or sigh; 
In bowers of peace, where fairies are. 
And elfin bands play near and far — 
Why, here all joys are multiplied, 
In Slumber Land, where dreams abide. 

And here are silver dawns, whose mist 

Its halo lends to mystify. 
And half conceal the amethyst 

That tinges all the eastern sky. 
And here are never frowns or tears, 
For angel voices charm the ears — 
The little ears all satisfied — 
In Slumber Land, where dreams abide. 

And here the merry sprites and fays 

In endless frolic may be seen. 
Through sunny bowers, where the days 

Are made of woven, golden sheen. 
And this is where all babies go 
When drowsy eyes are tired so 
They close, and all the senses glide 
To Slumber Land, where dreams abide. 



[lOS] 



Back o'er a flight of weary years 

We'd love to steal to childhood sweet,- 

We'd love to cast away the tears 
Of care, and romp with toddling feet 

Along the brink of misty streams, 

Where fairies flit in morning's beams, 

And once again be mystified 

In Slumber Land, where dreams abide. 



[103] 



TO JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY: 
GREETING 

James Whitcomb Riley, bard who weaves 

Into his verse the vines and leaves, 

The fodder-shocks and golden sheaves 

Of Hoosierland : — 

This greeting from one who believes 

You'll understand! 

• •••••• 

Tho' I'm nae skill't in writin' lays, 
An' scarce conversant wi' the ways 
O' crambo-clink, a feelin' sways — 

An begs o' me — 
To gie yer paukie stumpie praise 

In powesy. 

Sae, Jem, in gude Rab Burns' style, 
An' swing o' rhyme, just for a while — 
Aiblins ane hour — I will beguile 

Ye wi' my chaff ; — 
An' ask ye for (Losh, mon, don't smUe) 

Yer autograph! 

I love the good old-fashioned ring 

Of all the tuneful things you sing; 

For through them runs the breath of spring, 

The songs of birds, 
The summer dusk, the glow-lit wing. 

The " low " of herds. 

[\0^ 



And musing o'er your songs I hear 

The boasting of Sir Chanticleer, 

The Bobwhite's whistle, sweet and clear, 

In morning's haze; 
And everything that filled with cheer 

My youthful days. 

I hear the drowsy, soft refraim 
Made by the pattering of rain 
Across the fields of waving grain. 

In days of June; 
And, as of old, I hear again 

The turtle croon. 

I smell the nectar and perfume 
That rises from the clover bloom. 
When noisy " beetles bump and boom " 

Adown the shades ; 
When " whiddin' hares " steal from the broom 

To starlit glades. 

Oh rhymes of buds and blossomings — 
Oh rhymes that to my memory brings 
The tantalizing twitterings 

Of birds at mom! 
All sweet as zephyrs' whisperings 

Through tasseled com. 

And while from off your pen there drips 
The tuneful, runeful quibs and quips, — 

[105] 



And while your Muse the nectar sips 

Of all things pure, — 
I say with sincere, fervent lips, 

Your fame's secure. 

And so to you, whose writing brings 

A memory of all the things 

I knew when youthful revelings 

Made glad my days 
My simple muse her tribute sings 
In simple phrase. 



[106] 



TO JOSEPH ROLAND PIATT,— 
THE POEMER 

Whiles only hafflins gane tae bed 
Yestreen, lang ere my prayers were said,- 
As still ance mair your verse I read, 

Its chime on chime 
O' sweetness lured frae out my head 

This answerin' rhyme. 

Hail tae ye, friend an' brither mine ! — 
Hail tae your blithe sang, every line 
Tip-tasseled wi' a rhyme as fine 

As Bums might wake 
For Bonnie Jean, or, mair divine, 

For Mary's sake. 

Hail tae ye for the auld Scot's land, — 
Its lowly bard as weel's the grand ! 
Hail, for the art ye understand 

By native right ; 
Hail, tender heart and skilly hand — 

Hail and gude night ! 

JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY. 

Indianapolis, 

Christmas of 1901 



[107] 



SUMMER DAWN 

The clarion call of Sir Chanticleer 
Awakens night's slumber, and far and near 
A tinkle of bells in the atmosphere, 

While Nature begins to yawn. 
We smell, and we feel, and we almost hear 

A tingle and tang of dawn. 

The sky is tinged with a touch of gray, 
The stars pale slowly, then fade away, 
The lazy mists listlessly float and sway 

And ghost-like go gliding on. 
A crimson blush greets the god of day, — 

'Tis the glorious summer dawn. 

• • • • • 

I love the summer dawn so well, 

My very soul in rapture swoons 
To breathe its breath. A magic spell 
Comes over me. Emotions swell. 
And dreams of old 
Are swift unrolled, 
As in a maze of mental haze 
I wander through the long-lost Junes. 

Loved, long-lost Junes ! I wander through 

The woods, and each familiar place 
Is mine again. The spangled dew 
Gleams sweet. Here is each scene I knew. 
And, far away, 

[108] 



I hear the jay 
His war cry call; and over all 
The tangled branches interlace. 

Gnarled, tangled branches over me! 

Soft, tangled ferns beneath my feet 
Half hide the olden paths, where we 
Barefooted boys, all boisterously. 

Romped in and out. 

With lifted shout. 
Or wayward strayed in deeper shade. 

When sunmier days were all too fleet. 

Oh, sunmier days speed all too soon ! 

Too soon the time of youth is gone ! 
Too fleet are all the days of June ! 

And eventide 

Doth short abide, 
As down the stream of life we glide, 

Where waits the great. Eternal Dawn. 



[109] 



DOLCE FAR NIENTE 

Autumn atmosphere all hazy 
With the purple and the gold; 

Strands of gossamer, that lazy 
Float across an amber wold. 

Sunlight sifting tender, gleamy 
Through the tranquil atmosphere; 

Thistle tufts and clouds, that dreamy 
Sail away and disappear. 

Listless gusts of wind, tJiat bluster 
For a moment, then are gone ; 

Leaves that eddy, whirl and cluster, 
Swirl and sway, and on and on. 

Streamlets gurgling and complaining. 
Where the meadows gently slope ; 

Jay-birds gabbing, and explaining 
Everything within their scope. 

Scolding squirrels bark and chatter. 
Where the tree-tops arch and spread ; 

Flocks of crows, with jawing clatter, 
Wing their sluggish flight o'er head. 

Low and call of peaceful cattle ; 
Bleat of sheep, with tinkling bells 

[110] 



Echoing in mellow rattle 

From the glades and hazel dells. 
• • * • • 

Drowsing, rhyming, idly flinging 
Care to every wind that flies ; — 

Loitering about and singing, 

AMiile the summer fades and dies,- 

Thus in dolce far niente 

Do I dream the hours away, 

Doing nothing (and that's plenty) 
On this sweet September day. 



[Ill] 



THE POET 

With thoughtful and wrapt expression 

He stands by the boundless sea, 
And the great wide reach of the shingling beach 

Fills his soul with ecstasy. 

He picks up a bit of parchment 

Flung there by a vagrant wind, 
And strolling along he pencils a song 

That elevates all mankind, 

And on that parchment, faded 

And soiled by the stormy blast. 
Plans symphonies and great harmonies. 

That roll through cathedrals vast. 

They say he is sentimental. 

Well, what would this old world gain 
If its sentiment were forever sent 

To rest in the Polar Main? 

Fling all of your spites at the poet. 

Ye careless unthinking ones ; 
But for all your spites, what the poet writes 

Unlimbers the roaring guns. 

And the tramping of mighty armies 
Keeps time to his martial strains ; 

[112] 



At the bard's request the earth's oppressed 
Throw off their galling chains. 

And at last we hear the pK)et 

His •* Home, Sweet Home " release, 

\Miile the flags are furled, and we see a world 
Rejoice in his songs of peace. 

Then here's to the *' dreamy '' poet 
Who strives for the good and pure. 

For the song he sings and the joy he brings 
Will last while the stars endure ! 



[113] 



